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Jemima spent the following week like a hermit. She made no attempt to go out to games or frolics, or even the Sunday night sing. Jacob returned to his work and paid no heed to her seclusion, but Jemima could tell that her mother was puzzled, and a little worried. Rachel had asked no questions so far, but it was only a matter of time.
Jemima noticed her mother watching her at odd moments, and she could almost read the puzzled thought in her mind: There’s nothing standing in the way now. So why doesn’t Jemima give the money away, so she can get married?
It was a reasonable concern, and it was only a matter of time before her mother voiced it.
Jemima bent over her mending, pulling a needle through a torn quilt square. Her mother’s warning came back to her: “I don’t know what you feel toward that boy, Mima. But I do know this: That boy is an Englischer. He lives in a different world. He thinks differently from you, he believes different things, and he wants different things. If you lose sight of that, you could be very bad hurt.”
She knew that her mother was right, but it was already too late. She’d lost sight of what she should do, or should say, or should feel. She’d lost sight of everything except what she did feel: the intoxication of Brad’s lips on hers and of his arms around her.
There were a lot of things that were only a matter of time, and she knew she’d have to address them sooner or later: her mother’s confusion, when to give the rest of the money away and what to do when Mark and Samuel and Joseph came to the house and started asking questions of their own.
Jemima pulled the thread taut and tied it off. The thought of hurting her friends was a painful one. She knew that sooner or later, she would have to look into Joseph’s eyes, and Samuel’s, and Mark’s, and tell them what she had just learned herself: I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. I’m in love with another man. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on what that would do to them.
She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on what she would do herself, when the magic faded and Brad inevitably returned to his own life. That, too, was far too painful a thought to dwell on; so she simply pushed it aside.
There would be a price to pay later, she knew. But she had made the decision to pay whatever it might cost her – her friendships, her reputation, her parents’ approval. She had pushed the inevitable reckoning into the back of her mind.
All of those hard things were for later. Now, right now, she could only think of Brad.
She pulled her needle through the fabric. Brad had promised to come back on Saturday night, to their usual place. He had to commute all the way from the city to see her – almost fifty miles. It was a long way to travel.
But she was counting the days.
Jemima closed her eyes and leaned back into her chair. Instantly she was with Brad again under the stars. He had taken her hands and warmed them with his own.
“I’ll be back again at the same time. Meet me here?”
Brad’s blue eyes had glittered in his dark face. Those eyes had looked strange, otherworldly. The moon glanced off them and made them glow. It had been so like the dream she’d once had that it sent a shuddering thrill up her spine.
“Say you will, Duchess.”
She’d whispered yes, and dug her fingers into his hair. Jemima smiled to herself. Brad’s mop of hair was as thick as it looked; it was almost impenetrably dense, but surprisingly smooth and soft. She had dug her hands into that untamable hair, smoothed her hands down behind his ears and cupped them behind his neck.
He had taken her face in his hands and kissed her again, that last time – such a sweet, soft, good night my love kiss.
Jemima smiled, sighed and opened her eyes again.
It was only a few days until their next meeting. It was getting chilly at night now, so she’d decided to take a big quilt this time, to wrap around their shoulders. It would be snug and cozy. Maybe they could even sit on the porch swing, if he arrived late enough, after everyone was asleep. A little thermos of hot coffee might also be a nice welcome.
Of course it would be more comfortable indoors, and she toyed with the idea of bringing Brad inside the house, but rejected it as too risky. If her father came downstairs for any reason and saw her sitting there with the Englischer reporter, she trembled to think what he might do.
So for as long as they lasted, her meetings with Brad would have to remain a secret, known only to them.
Jemima’s eyebrows twitched together. That is, if Deborah didn’t betray them and bring the whole thing crashing down around their ears.
